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Day 5: Only One Coffin ⚰️
Remember Daniel’s voice when he told Armand Louis said he only brought five boys back to the apartment? He DEFINITELY likes feeling special(who doesn’t?)
Reblogged dmtruther
Who up deviling their minion
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what is being a girl if not always in hell yet having to lock in for a photo
interview with the vampire tweet round up 162/xxx
that chapter in TVL where armand like hypnotizes lestat in the ballroom and feeds on him. and then lestat gets himself off of armand and drags him outside and beats the fucking shit out of him. and then is like "awww you're so beautiful baby girl let me bring u back to my place" and gabrielle is just like Literally what the FUCK is wrong with y'all
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Pro-censorship wattpad refugees drama is so funny to me because when I started using ao3 as a kid I was a devout mormon and I thought that reading anything even remotely pornagraphic was a sin and would ruin my life. So when I was 13 and found ao3 I went "oh awesome I found a fanfic website with a filtering system so I won't ever randomly stumble into porn. This is great! I was really worried about seeing something I didn't want to see on the other platforms." I didn't read any smut online until like three years later. If a mormon 13 year old can figure out 'don't like don't read' wattpad users can too cmon you guys i believe in you.
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Anonymous asked:
"having Amadeo's best friend play the lute right outside their door while they fucked". he RAPED him in that scene and immobalized him are you mental?? Would you say bruce was having sex with claudia??
you really just wanted to find something to be angry about today, huh? 😂
yeah, bro, i know it was rape. if you've looked at literally any of my other posts about Marius, you'd know i already said that multiple times
and i LITERALLY did not even say the word "sex." you LITERALLY quoted my post that said "fucked" which i think is very funny
also like... what do you think "non-con" stands for? it's "non-consensual sex" and there's also like "sexual assault." i know there's this new thing like "rape is NOT considered sex! don't call it that!" bro, sex is in the definition... it's "sexual intercourse without consent"
like c'mon.... there's way more important things to be angry about lmaooo
Thank you for reminding me just how fucked up Marius was.
Behold! The printing titty!
I normally tag these posts “specific ass machines” after a minor meme that blew through Tumblr, but I was tempted to tag this one “specific boob machines”.
(Artist meow25meow seems to have had their Twitter account nuked and I cannot find any other original source to link to.)
disappearing into the bathroom at the club only to reappear covered in decorative printing patterns followed by a 10ft lady wearing bowls as a bra
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I have been thinking a great deal about Armand as a character after watching the first two seasons of Interview with the Vampire, particularly about the psychological implications of everything we learn about his past. The more I think about his history, the more tragic and psychologically coherent his behavior becomes.
I know that the series has aged Armand up compared with the books at different stages of his life. In the television adaptation, he was abducted by slave traders when he was around twelve years old and subsequently sold into sexual slavery in a brothel, where he remained until he was approximately fifteen, when Marius took him in. Based on Armand's own descriptions of their relationship, it seems painfully clear that, in the mind of a traumatized fifteen-year-old child, Marius became something close to a hero, even a god, because he had rescued him from the brothel. But the tragic reality is that Armand was essentially removed from one predatory system only to be placed under the control of another predator—one who exercised power over him in a far more emotionally sophisticated and psychologically insidious way.
Marius gives Armand what appears, from the outside, to be everything he desperately needed: freedom, education, food, affection, tenderness, stability, and a home. Yet beneath that apparent rescue is an adult vampire, physically presenting as a man in his forties, who continues to sexually exploit Armand while grooming and conditioning him to accept that Marius can offer him sexually to his guests as a means of "paying" them in kind. In other words, what looks like salvation is actually another form of exploitation, only one that is much harder for Armand to recognize because it is intertwined with affection, protection, emotional dependency, and the profound relief of finally being cared for after years of abuse.
From the age of twelve onward, Armand is repeatedly dehumanized and objectified: first by the structural system of sexual exploitation in which he is imprisoned, and then by the person he comes to trust most and who provides him with the greatest sense of emotional and physical security. The tragedy is that he does not initially recognize Marius's "gift" for what it really is. He has been so thoroughly groomed and psychologically conditioned that, during those 12 human years with Marius, Marius becomes the absolute center of his universe. Armand has no family left, no stable sense of identity, no meaningful social world, and virtually no autonomy. He depends on Marius for everything: his physical safety, his emotional security, his education, his material existence, and even his understanding of what love is supposed to look like.
This makes the power imbalance between them almost impossible to overstate. Armand is not simply a young lover who happens to be involved with an older vampire. He is a deeply traumatized child whose entire sense of safety has become attached to the very person who is exploiting him. That is precisely what makes grooming so psychologically devastating: the perpetrator does not necessarily present themselves as a source of danger. They deliberately make themselves indispensable to the victim. Marius becomes simultaneously Armand's protector, provider, teacher, emotional anchor, sexual abuser, and the person upon whom his entire identity depends. To a fifteen-year-old who has already lost everything, the distinction between "the person keeping me safe" and "the person controlling me" can become almost impossible to perceive.
And I think this becomes even more horrifying when we consider what happens after Armand is turned.
I do not know whether the series will explore all of this in Season 4, but in the books, after Marius turns Armand at seventeen because he is dying, Marius is attacked shortly afterward by the Children of Darkness, a religious vampire coven led by Santino. They set Marius's palace on fire. Armand believes that Marius has been killed. The coven then captures Amadeo and the other young vampires.
What follows is horrific.
They deliberately massacre the other young vampires in front of him, forcing Armand to watch the deaths of the people to whom he has become attached. Santino is not simply trying to kill him physically. He is trying to annihilate his identity.
And that is exactly what he does.
Santino isolates him, deprives him of nourishment, tortures him, and systematically dismantles everything he believes about himself and the world. He teaches Armand that everything he previously believed was false. Most importantly, he convinces him that Marius abandoned him and is dead.
Think about what that means psychologically.
Marius was the center of Armand's entire world. He was the person who had rescued him, educated him, provided him with shelter and affection, and become the foundation of his identity. Then, almost immediately after Armand's transformation, that entire world is destroyed. He is not merely grieving the loss of a lover. He is losing the person around whom his entire psychological existence has been organized.
And this is probably the moment when Amadeo, psychologically speaking, dies and Armand is born.
Armand is therefore not simply a new name for the same person. It represents the construction of a new identity around survival.
That distinction is incredibly important to me when interpreting his behavior.
Armand's personality is not simply the personality of an inherently manipulative or controlling person. It is the personality of someone who has spent his entire existence learning that vulnerability is dangerous, dependence is dangerous, abandonment is inevitable, and control is the only reliable protection against helplessness.
And then there is Marius's description of Armand in the series, particularly when he refers to him as a "rotten boy." If the series ultimately establishes that Marius understood exactly what he was doing to Armand, then that becomes even more disturbing. It suggests that Marius never truly regarded Armand as a fully autonomous human being. He objectified him, manipulated him, and consciously dehumanized him in order to control and sexually exploit him for himself and for his guests.
In that sense, Armand was reduced to a form of sexual servitude from approximately the age of twelve until twenty-seven in the television timeline. The difference is that, in the brothel, Armand understood that he was being exploited. With Marius, he was subjected to something far more psychologically complex: he was blinded by grooming, emotional manipulation, and attachment. Marius exploited the vulnerabilities created by years of childhood abuse and used affection and protection to make that exploitation feel like love.
That distinction is crucial.
Because Armand did not simply experience abuse.
He was taught to confuse abuse with love.
And that would explain so much about the way he approaches intimacy centuries later.
Then Santino perpetuates the same fundamental pattern through torture, psychological conditioning, and ideological indoctrination. Armand is repeatedly stripped of his autonomy by people who claim authority over him. His body, his sexuality, his memories, his beliefs, his identity, and ultimately his understanding of reality are all subjected to other people's control.
The series also strongly emphasizes the extent of the psychological damage this has caused him. Armand appears to have almost completely lost access to large portions of his own past. He describes his memories as fragmented, with enormous stretches of his childhood and adolescence existing as a kind of black hole. Whether we use the clinical term "traumatic amnesia" cautiously or not, the narrative clearly portrays profound memory disruption associated with overwhelming trauma.
And I think this also explains one of the most subtle details in the way Armand speaks about his past to Louis: he frequently refers to his younger self in the third person.
That linguistic distance is fascinating.
He does not always say, "I experienced this."
He says, in effect, "this happened to that boy."
It is almost as though "Armand" and "the boy who was abused" have become psychologically separate people.
The dissociation is therefore present not only in his memories, but in his language and in the way he conceptualizes his own identity. Speaking about himself in the third person creates a psychological distance between his present self and the child who experienced those things. It allows him to describe the events without having to fully inhabit the emotional reality of having been the person to whom they happened.
That is what makes those small details in the series so powerful to me.
His avoidance is not merely a personality quirk. His amnesia, his dissociation, his emotional detachment, and his tendency to intellectualize or distance himself from his own suffering all appear to be ways of surviving experiences that were originally too overwhelming for him to process.
But there is a terrible paradox at the heart of Armand's character:
He has spent centuries running away from his pain, yet his entire worldview has been shaped by it.
He escapes his past through amnesia. He distances himself from it through dissociation. He attempts to escape vulnerability through control. He tries to escape abandonment by making himself indispensable to the people he loves. He tries to escape helplessness by becoming the person who holds all the power.
But none of those strategies actually free him from his trauma.
They simply transform it into behavior.
That is why I find his relationship with control so fascinating. Armand has experienced situations in which other people had absolute power over him, and his response was ultimately to construct a self in which he would never again be powerless. Yet in doing so, he repeatedly becomes capable of exercising the very forms of control that were once used against him.
He was controlled, so he learns to control.
He was made dependent, so he becomes indispensable.
His memories were taken from him, so he becomes capable of manipulating other people's memories.
He was taught that love and possession were inseparable, so he struggles to understand how to love someone without trying to keep them.
And that is why I think Armand's understanding of love is so deeply tragic.
For him, love is inseparable from safety, and safety is inseparable from control.
If someone is important to him, losing them is not simply painful. It threatens to reactivate the deepest wound of his entire existence: the terror of being abandoned, powerless, and left with nothing.
So he tries to prevent abandonment before it can happen. He holds on too tightly. He manipulates. He withholds information. He controls circumstances. He sometimes alters memories. He tries to make himself indispensable.
And, ironically, those very behaviors can become the mechanisms through which he hurts the people he loves and ultimately risks losing them.
That is why I think Armand is such a tragic character.
He is not simply a victim, nor is he simply an villain. He is a person who has spent centuries carrying the psychological consequences of being repeatedly stripped of his autonomy, and who has subsequently developed survival strategies that can themselves become destructive.
Understanding his trauma does not excuse what he does to other people. It makes his actions intelligible without making them acceptable. And I think that distinction is essential when analyzing him.
Armand has essentially been in survival mode since childhood. He has never really had the opportunity to develop an identity outside of trauma, dependency, obedience, loss, and the struggle for control. Even when he becomes extraordinarily powerful, some part of him remains that frightened, traumatized child who learned that the person he depends on can disappear at any moment.
That is why his relationships are so psychologically complicated.
He desperately wants intimacy, yet intimacy terrifies him.
He wants to be loved, yet he does not fully understand love without possession.
He wants freedom, yet he repeatedly recreates structures of control.
He fears abandonment, yet his attempts to prevent it can become profoundly violating.
And perhaps most tragically of all, he has spent centuries trying to escape the boy he once was while simultaneously allowing that boy's wounds to dictate almost everything he does.
To me, that is the tragedy at the very heart of Armand's character:
He survived everything that was done to him, but survival is not the same thing as healing.
He survived the loss of his family. He survived slavery. He survived sexual exploitation. He survived grooming. He survived the destruction of his identity. He survived the loss of Marius. He survived Santino's torture and indoctrination. He survived centuries of loneliness and abandonment.
But he never truly escaped any of it.
He simply became powerful enough to make sure that no one could ever have that kind of power over him again.
And perhaps that is why, despite being one of the most powerful vampires in the world, Armand remains psychologically imprisoned by the same thing that has controlled him since he was twelve years old:
the desperate need to feel safe.
With all of this context in mind, Armand's behavior becomes much easier to understand psychologically. His reliance on manipulation, deception, possession, absolute power, and control—particularly toward the people he loves—is not arbitrary. These are the coping mechanisms and defensive strategies he has developed after a lifetime in which vulnerability repeatedly meant danger, exploitation, and abandonment.
Armand is terrified of being abandoned again. He is terrified of ever finding himself in that degree of helplessness and vulnerability again. But perhaps the most tragic aspect of his psychology is that his identity and individuality have been violated, suppressed, and repeatedly stripped away since he was twelve years old. He was first reduced to an object by the people who exploited him, then reshaped by Marius, then psychologically dismantled and reconstructed by Santino. As a result, he seems to have very little sense of who he is when he is not occupying a position of control—whether that means controlling a coven, controlling a relationship, controlling the information available to someone, or controlling the narrative through which events are understood.
In a sense, control has become more than a defense mechanism for Armand: it has become the scaffolding of his identity.
And yet there is a profound paradox at the heart of this.
Although Armand desperately needs to control the people around him, he also seems to search for himself through the eyes of the people he loves. He needs their perception of him to tell him who he is. This may explain why he so often lies, manipulates, and carefully constructs the version of himself that his lovers are allowed to see. He wants them to perceive him as desirable, fascinating, powerful, intelligent, mysterious, and worthy of devotion. He simultaneously wants to be loved and feared, because both reactions reassure him that he matters—that he occupies an irreplaceable place in the other person's emotional world.
This is why Louis calling him "boring" and "not fascinating" in San Francisco is so psychologically significant to me.
On the surface, it might seem like a relatively minor insult. But for someone with Armand's history, it potentially strikes directly at one of his deepest attachment wounds. His hypervigilance immediately activates:
"He finds me boring. I am not fascinating to him. He is going to lose interest in me. He is going to leave me. I need to keep him. I need to understand what fascinates him."
And that is precisely what makes his subsequent interest in Daniel so revealing.
Armand searches through Daniel's memories because he is trying to understand him, certainly—but he is also trying to understand what Louis sees in him. Daniel becomes a source of information about Louis's desires, fascinations, and emotional attachments. Armand is essentially attempting to reverse-engineer the reason Louis might choose someone else over him.
That is a profoundly insecure attachment response disguised as supernatural omnipotence.
He has all the power in the room, yet psychologically he is behaving like someone terrified that he is not enough.
And this is where I think another aspect of Armand's psychology becomes particularly fascinating: when he becomes deeply emotionally attached to Louis, he begins to seek out a form of submission that closely resembles the dynamic he once had with Marius.
We see this as early as the 1940s, when Armand asks Louis, "Is that a request or an order?" And even before, after Louis decides to remain with him despite the risks posed by the theater troupe, Armand calls him "Master."
Then the same dynamic reappears in the 1970s, when Louis tells him not to kill Daniel and Armand asks:
"Is that an order or a request, Master?"
Louis confirms that it is an order.
I find this incredibly revealing.
Because Armand's relationship with power is not simply a straightforward desire to dominate. It is much more contradictory than that.
He wants to be the one who controls others.
But when he is profoundly attached to someone, he also seems to seek the experience of surrendering control to that person.
I think this can be understood, at least in part, through the grooming he experienced with Marius.
Marius taught Armand to associate profound emotional attachment with complete submission. Marius was simultaneously his protector, provider, teacher, lover, and authority figure. Armand's emotional survival became dependent upon pleasing him, obeying him, and remaining valuable to him.
So Armand may have internalized a deeply distorted equation:
love = submission.
love = obedience.
love = being possessed by someone.
love = giving someone else power over you.
And this creates one of the most fascinating contradictions in his character.
Armand spends centuries doing everything possible to ensure that he will never again experience the kind of powerlessness he suffered under his abusers. He becomes extraordinarily powerful. He builds hierarchies. He establishes rules. He controls covens. He manipulates people. He lies. He alters memories. He controls narratives. He does, at times, to other people some of the very things that were once done to him.
He essentially constructs an entire identity around never being powerless again.
And yet, when he falls deeply in love, something much older and more wounded resurfaces.
The traumatized child who learned that love meant submission comes back.
Suddenly, the person who ordinarily needs to be in control wants to be told what to do.
He wants to be chosen. He wants to obey. He wants to be someone's "boy." He wants reassurance that he belongs to someone and that this person will not abandon him.
That is why I don't think Armand's attraction to submission necessarily contradicts his obsession with control. They are actually two sides of the same trauma.
Control protects him from vulnerability.
Submission reassures him that he is loved.
And because he has never learned how to separate love from power, he oscillates between the two extremes.
When he feels threatened, he becomes controlling. When he feels profoundly attached, he becomes submissive. When he fears abandonment, he manipulates. When he feels secure enough to surrender, he seeks someone else's authority.
The tragedy is that neither extreme actually resolves the underlying wound.
Control cannot guarantee that someone will stay.
And submission cannot guarantee that someone will love him.
Yet Armand keeps returning to both because they are the only relational languages he has ever truly been taught.
This also helps explain why his relationships are so psychologically complicated. He does not merely want affection. He wants certainty. He wants to know that he is indispensable. He wants to know that the person he loves will choose him. He wants to know that he cannot be discarded.
And when he cannot obtain that certainty naturally, he tries to manufacture it through control.
That is why his manipulation is so often rooted in fear rather than simple cruelty.
This does not excuse what he does. Understanding the origin of a behavior does not make the behavior acceptable. Armand can be genuinely traumatized and genuinely harmful at the same time. He can love someone deeply and still violate their autonomy. He can be terrified of becoming like his abusers while simultaneously reproducing aspects of the power dynamics they inflicted upon him.
In fact, that contradiction may be the central tragedy of his character.
He spends his entire existence trying not to become powerless like the child he once was, only to become controlling like the people who once held power over him.
And when he finally loves someone deeply enough, that carefully constructed adult identity begins to crack.
The powerful vampire disappears for a moment.
And underneath him is still Amadeo—the fifteen-year-old boy who desperately wanted the person who rescued him to love him, protect him, choose him, and never leave him.
That is why I find Armand's relationship with Louis so fascinating.
He is not simply trying to dominate Louis. Nor is he simply trying to submit to him.
He is desperately trying to resolve, through Louis, a psychological contradiction that has existed inside him for centuries:
"Can I be loved without being controlled? Can I surrender without being destroyed? Can I have power without becoming my abusers? Can someone possess my heart without possessing me?"
And perhaps most tragically of all, Armand has never really learned how to distinguish between those things.
His understanding of love has been shaped by people who taught him that intimacy and power are inseparable. So when he loves, he does not merely seek closeness. He seeks safety, certainty, validation, possession, surrender, and control—all at once.
That is what makes him such a psychologically compelling character.
Armand is simultaneously the person who desperately wants to hold the reins and the wounded child who desperately wants someone else to hold them for him.
And those two versions of him are not opposites.
They are the same survival response expressed in two different directions.
I think that, when we consider everything we know about Armand's history, his trauma, and his deeply distorted relationship with love, power, and control, his relationship with Daniel could potentially represent something far more significant than another romantic attachment. Daniel could be a possible way out for Armand.
Not because Daniel could "save" him, and certainly not because love magically erases trauma, but because Daniel represents something Armand has almost never experienced in his relationships: the possibility of intimacy without the same rigid hierarchy of power that has defined his understanding of love for centuries.
Armand has spent virtually his entire existence trapped between two extremes. On one side, there is control: manipulation, secrecy, possession, authority, psychological domination, and the desperate need to remain the person who determines what happens. On the other, there is submission: surrendering himself completely to someone he loves, seeking their approval, obeying them, and allowing their perception of him to determine his own sense of worth.
Both responses originate in the same wound.
Armand learned very early that vulnerability could make him a target. He learned that dependence could be exploited. He learned that the person who provided safety could also become the person who possessed him. And consequently, he developed an almost desperate need to control the conditions of intimacy.
But Daniel is fundamentally different from the people who shaped Armand's previous relationships.
Daniel does not need Armand to be his savior. He does not need him to be his master. He does not need him to construct an identity for him.
And, perhaps most importantly, he sees through him.
Daniel is one of the few people who consistently challenges Armand rather than simply accepting the version of himself that Armand presents. He questions him, provokes him, exposes contradictions in his stories, and refuses to treat him as an unquestionable authority. He does not approach Armand with the reverence that Marius inspired, nor with the dependence that characterized some of Armand's other relationships.
Daniel looks at him and asks, essentially:
"Who are you when you stop controlling the narrative?"
And I think that question could become transformative for Armand.
Because Armand has spent centuries constructing himself through other people's perceptions. He wants to be fascinating, powerful, desirable, mysterious, indispensable. He manipulates what people know about him because he is terrified that, if they were allowed to see the whole truth, they might leave.
Daniel is precisely the kind of person who could force him to confront the possibility that he does not have to be perfect, powerful, fascinating, or frightening in order to be loved.
Daniel could potentially love Armand rather than the persona Armand constructs.
And that distinction is enormous.
There is also something particularly meaningful about the fact that Daniel is the person who eventually becomes capable of experiencing Armand through the vampire bond. For centuries, Armand has been the one with the psychological advantage. He can enter people's minds, manipulate memories, conceal information, and control narratives. Daniel's transformation fundamentally alters that dynamic.
For perhaps the first time, Armand is emotionally exposed to someone who can also reach him.
Daniel can feel him. Daniel can perceive him. Daniel can challenge him.
And Daniel is no longer simply a human being whose existence Armand can manipulate from the shadows.
He is a vampire in his own right.
That creates the possibility of something Armand has rarely experienced: reciprocity.
And reciprocity may be precisely what Armand needs. Not someone beneath him. Not someone above him. Someone beside him.
That is why I think Devil's Minion has the potential to become much more than a conventional immortal romance. Daniel could become the first person with whom Armand has the possibility of building an attachment that is not fundamentally organized around a master-and-servant dynamic.
Their relationship could challenge Armand's deeply internalized equation of:
love = possession,
love = submission,
love = control.
Daniel could teach him something entirely different:
love = mutual recognition.
Love = choice.
Love = autonomy.
Love = staying without being forced to stay.
And that last distinction might be the most important one of all.
Armand has spent centuries trying to make people stay.
Through power. Through manipulation. Through emotional dependency. Through secrecy. Through control.
But if Daniel stays while remaining completely capable of leaving, then Armand would have to confront something terrifying:
being loved voluntarily.
That would require Armand to relinquish one of the fundamental defenses he has built around himself.
If Daniel can say, "I am here because I choose to be here," rather than "I am here because you made me stay," then Armand would finally have evidence that love does not require possession.
And Daniel could also potentially challenge the opposite side of Armand's trauma: his tendency to seek submission when he becomes emotionally attached.
Because Daniel is not likely to be comfortable with Armand reducing their relationship to obedience and authority. He can love Armand without becoming subordinate to him. He can challenge him without abandoning him. He can establish boundaries without turning those boundaries into rejection.
That distinction could be profoundly healing for someone whose entire understanding of intimacy has been built around extremes.
Daniel could essentially demonstrate to Armand:
You do not have to control me for me to stay.
And equally:
You do not have to submit to me for me to love you.
That is why I think Daniel could represent a genuine "way out" for Armand—not an escape from his trauma, but an escape from the relational patterns his trauma has created.
Of course, Daniel cannot heal Armand for him. A romantic relationship cannot substitute for the psychological work required to confront centuries of trauma. And there is a real danger in romanticizing their dynamic, particularly given Armand's history of manipulating Daniel's memories and violating his autonomy.
For their relationship to become genuinely transformative, Armand would eventually have to confront precisely those things.
He would have to tell Daniel the truth. He would have to stop deciding what Daniel is allowed to remember. He would have to accept Daniel's anger. He would have to tolerate Daniel's autonomy. He would have to allow Daniel to disagree with him. He would have to accept that Daniel might leave.
And most importantly, he would have to discover that Daniel choosing to remain is infinitely more meaningful than Daniel being incapable of leaving.
That could be Armand's real redemption—not becoming innocent, because he can never undo what he has done, but finally understanding the difference between possession and love.
And perhaps that is why Daniel is such a uniquely powerful character for him.
Daniel is not simply someone Armand loves.
He is someone who could force Armand to confront the fundamental question he has spent centuries avoiding:
"Who am I when I am not controlling anyone, when no one is controlling me, and when I am loved simply for being myself?"
For someone whose identity has been repeatedly stolen, rewritten, manipulated, and reconstructed by other people, that may be the most terrifying question imaginable.
But it could also be the beginning of freedom.
Because perhaps Armand's ultimate journey is not learning how to gain more power.
It is learning that he does not need power to be worthy of love.
And Daniel, more than almost anyone else in his life, has the potential to show him that.
“He is not simply a victim, nor is he simply an villain. He is a person who has spent centuries carrying the psychological consequences of being repeatedly stripped of his autonomy, and who has subsequently developed survival strategies that can themselves become destructive.”
THANK YOU. This is what I’ve been saying about Armand since day ONE. And I 100% agree about the part with Daniel. Lestat didn’t love Armand that way Armand loved Lestat, and Louis, who was also desperate for control, fully believed the dynamic Armand set up for them to the point that when Claudia warned him about Armand he refused to believe her. Daniel is the first person to see Armand for the monster he is and still love him. And I’ve said this before, but Daniel is really the first person that Armand can’t make his “Maitre.” If the DM era happened theory is correct, then Armand got with Daniel while he was a human. There is no arguing that Armand is the one with all the power. With Louis, he could at least put up the FACADE that Louis was in control over him. With Daniel? He’s a fucking crackhead that relies on Armand to make sure he doesn’t die. And even now, Daniel is a baby vampire who has no interest in that dynamic. If Armand called him Maitre he would probably tell him to shut the fuck up.
